A cat with two tails sits on the moon,
yowling at the stars.
It's alone.
It's alone.
Even with a pair attached,
so helplessly alone.
On the moon,
among the stars.
The flick to and fro with stellar breeze,
chasing one another,
never catching the other.
The face of the moon,
so bright and beautiful;
as cold as the love of God.
Back on earth,
a mate cannot be bothered.
The best,
to you,
I wish.
A dream,
a hope,
but memory.
That's you,
a memory;
don't fade.
To say
those words
you need.
Three words,
that's all.
Just three.
Why not,
so much
left unsaid.
Three words,
need strength;
just once.
Three words.
Damn me,
damn this.
I didn't know it could be this again;
a closeness of heartbeats over an impassable distance.
But it's not impassable;
we've crossed it before, in dreams and words,
and we cross in now in friendship and hope.
Almost, not quite, as if time never moved,
I find you back in my thoughts,
a constant in a sea of change.
There's contentment here I didn't remember,
peace I don't deserve.
Thank you.
The cancer took Mary on a Friday, just after three in the morning. She was laying in bed, sleeping. I sat in the chair near the window, reading something, I forget now what, trying not to think about the moment, only thinking about the moment. It had just finished raining, and I had the window to the room cracked, the scent of fresh condensation floating in from the garden outside. The air smelled pure and relaxed. It was lovely.
I was dozing slightly when the EKG started to beep. It took me several seconds to realize what exactly I was hearing, not that it mattered much. By the time I was out of the chair, the nurse had walked in. She move
Folds in the Ground by ron-brouillette, literature
Literature
Folds in the Ground
You always asked for my words.
I remember,
late at night as I sat alone,
you'd reach across the void and beg me
for a stories.
Stories of princesses in far away lands,
of snow falling for your desert eyes.
More often than not,
you'd beg for stories of affection;
gentle caresses on cold nights,
my fingers brushing your hips,
your lips brushing mine.
The curse of loneliness that filled you,
you'd ask me to break down
with a few simple words written just for you,
just for your heart to hold tight.
Now that you're gone,
spending time in his arms,
his hand caressing your midrif,
reminding you what grows there is his,
and only his;
I think abo
The cancer took Mary on a Friday, just after three in the morning. She was laying in bed, sleeping. I sat in the chair near the window, reading something, I forget now what, trying not to think about the moment, only thinking about the moment. It had just finished raining, and I had the window to the room cracked, the scent of fresh condensation floating in from the garden outside. The air smelled pure and relaxed. It was lovely.
I was dozing slightly when the EKG started to beep. It took me several seconds to realize what exactly I was hearing, not that it mattered much. By the time I was out of the chair, the nurse had walked in. She move
By accident,
I found her tombstone.
It lay buried beneath snow,
encased in ice,
under a canopy of white held aloft by the trees.
I had been walking,
focusing,
as I often do,
on the clouds of steam rising from my mouth,
and what they meant to me,
when my foot caught hold of the crumbling cross,
and sent me tumbling down...
down...
down...
I caught myself on hands in a sea of crystal white,
flesh stinging from the cold,
my foot aching in pain,
burning hot in the winter wood.
Why would there be a grave here?
What poor soul would be forever lost in this hollow?
Carefully,
in the cold,
throughout the fading light,
and into a